tterly to forget the probability of his having
a heart. With a strange perversity, L'Isle was at once flattered and
annoyed at the use she made of him. It was an unequal game he was
playing, like a moth fluttering round a candle. His temper began to be
worn threadbare, and oftener than ever he repeated to himself, "She is
a heartless woman!"

In this mood L'Isle was listening, with a curled lip, to an animated
discussion between Lady Mabel, Sir Charles Moreton, and another
gentleman, as to the merits of a new actress, a dramatic meteor, then
briefly eminent on the London boards. The Honorable Mr. L----, who
was a _savant_ in the small sciences that cater to amusement,
pronounced her the Siddons of the day; Lady Mabel called her a ranter,
then, as if alarmed at her temerity, appealed as usual to L'Isle.

"No one can be a better judge of acting than Lady Mabel," said
L'Isle. "But for her opinion, I would call your favorite an
indifferently good actress."

Thus to "damn with faint praise," displeased Mr. L---- more than
positive censure, and he exclaimed: "Then you never saw her play Jane
Shore. The illusion is perfect. The house is deceived into forgetting
the drama, to witness the living and dying agonies of the desolate
penitent. Who can equal her?"

"Many," answered L'Isle; "and Lady Mabel can do better."

"Lady Mabel! She doubtless excels in everything. But I never saw her
act."

"I have," said L'Isle bitterly. "The illusion of Mrs. ----'s acting is
limited to the spectators. Lady Mabel deceives him who acts with her."

Lady Mabel turned pale, and then red, while the two gentlemen stared
at her and L'Isle alternately. Suddenly exclaiming, "There is my
friend, Mrs. B----. I have not seen her for a month. I must go and
speak to her," she accepted the arm of the _savant_ in small things,
and hastened after her friend, who had appeared so opportunely.

"You set little value on Lady Mabel's favors," said Sir Charles,
looking inquisitively at L'Isle. "You have certainly offended her
greatly."

"Do you think so?" said L'Isle coldly. "Then I suppose I must
apologize and beg my peace."

"If you do it successfully," said his companion, "I will be glad of a
lesson from you in the art."

L'Isle was angry with himself. Not that he felt that he owed Lady
Mabel any amends. But he had never until now made the slightest
allusion to certain scenes in the past. Pride had forbidden it. And he
was still reproaching himself